You Raise Me Up
by flawsinscience
Summary: Riconnie story told mostly from Ric's point of view, set sometime after the sting episode
1. Chapter 1

I stalk into her office, hoping to silently watch her for a moment, catch her off guard, gaze intently at her for a while, stir her from the work she so eagerly concentrates on. I'm wrong, when I stick my head round the door she isn't in her desk, neither is her foe. I shrug, turning on my heel, its most likely she is still caught up in a case, finishing rounds, she most certainly hasn't left, her coat and bag are still idle on her coat hook.

A quick introspection at the nurses station tells me she has finished work, why then is she still here, I beg to ask the question, my answer hits me like an adulterating slap. I curse myself for being so naïve, so stupid, knowing myself what it feels like to return to an empty flat I understand her perfectly. Making matters worse is no doubt the guilt over putting Michael in such a position. I heard her in her office that night as I came in to avoid loneliness and catch up with paperwork, sitting cradling her for two hours as she sobbed and explained had quite literally left me in shreds. She told of how she'd always trusted him, yet still knew that it wasn't going to work out, about how she'd had to turn him in because he was too proud to tell her otherwise, about how she'd seen Chrissie smile so cockily, about how isolated she was feeling. 

I decide she's gone for a walk, I've got a pretty good idea where, dipping into my office I pick up my coat, heading downstairs to first pick up some strong coffee, if I know her as well as I think, she isn't alone, she'll have taken a reminder of Michael with her, his bottle of aging scotch. The paper cups warm my hands in eager anticipation as I hop up the stairs two at a time, careful not to slush the liquid adventurously over my coat. Taking the last few steps easily I make it out onto the roof, eyeing her leaning against the water box poking out from the flat plain, I was right, nestling in the gravel beside her is the bottle of Glenfiddach, from a distance her eyes already look bloodshot, she is moving too languidly for my liking. I am concerned.

I walk slowly over to her, startling her now could cause her to bolt, run towards the edge, not that I think she would, the thought crosses my mind none the less, "Connie," I ask tentatively. Her head turns round to face me; she has bitter red tears frisking on her raw cheeks.

"Go away," she announced in a slurred purr, I can't help but feel turned on by her appearance, it is most certainly wrong! Thrusting the coffee into her hand I help myself to the vacant space beside her, placing my hand over my knees, its bitterly cold yet I'm certain she is feeling it more than me, those surgical hoodies provide little warmth.

"What's brought this on?" Given her current state I am right to expect her barriers to telling me the truth resemble a sand castle, seeming strong yet entirely weak. Her face turns to look at me, she is hurting for some reason I've yet to be told about.

"It's, its Michael," she stammers in response, her speech is still slurred ever so slightly, the coffee is having the desired effect, it's just taking a bit longer than I'd hoped, apparently I hadn't been quick enough this time.

"What about Michael?" I ask cajoling her, I'm not one to push things but truth be told I'm starting to freeze my backside off here and the sooner we return to warmth the better, I can see blue trails on her fingertips.

"He's come back," she sniffs sullenly, averting her eyes to the sky, the hours that woman can spend staring to nothing amazes me, a bit like myself I suppose, its where we are too alike, we look to people who we've loved and lost, the number of times my dad's silently helped me out despite our differences makes me smile for some odd reason.

"How can he come back, I thought he was in jail," I must admit I'm slightly confused, it's the problem with my nature, I'm too forgiving, happy to let my nose remain out of peoples business, gossip's never really interested me. But anything that involves Connie does interest me, and worry me at the same time. For weeks after he got sentenced she went around with her face screwed up in all sorts of discontented hurt.

"He's on AAU, he bloody well tried to kill himself, Ric," she mutters soullessly, the hurt is explicit in her voice, she isn't hiding it either, she knows I'll find out sooner or later, that she can't hide anything from me. My immediate reaction is to put my arm around her, she doesn't protest in the slightest, burying her face into my chest, I can feel the material absorbing her tears as she make's fruitless attempts to stop.

"Connie, why didn't you tell anyone," I sigh, I sound like a father, frustrated at her embarrassed need to hide things from me, it annoys me sometimes but I can't be angry with her now, it would be downright wrong.

"I don't want people knowing how much of a selfish coward he is," she whispers, spoke from a proud woman, image is everything to her, she can't be seen without faultless makeup, no background, an enigma, heavens above I've spent hours trying to solve it, it's like suduko, impossible to solve yet entertaining throughout.

"He's your husband, its perfectly alright to feel like this," reassurance is what she needs just now, I'm more than adept at giving it, or at least I think I am, she glances up to me, her face bares a grateful smile, we don't say anything to each other as her lips crush softly onto mine, I don't pull away, its strange but comforting, I like it, a lot. As soon as she pulls away I yearn for more yet find myself drowning with guilt, her husband is laid floors below and I'm up here committing adultery. I shuffle away from her, watching her face crumble.

"I'm sorry Connie, it's wrong, you should be with Michael," I tell her through gritted teeth, there is something stupidly hot about her when she is like this, I can't absolutely cannot. No!

"But I can't go and see him, not like this, I've barely spoken a word to him, no I won't here suits me fine," she talks like a petulant child, it slightly amuses me, her stubbornness is a turn on, but I can't, what do I say to this admission, it seems totally wrong to force her to go see him, but the two of them clearly have things to talk about, issues to resolve. I go for it, getting out of this situation is the only possibility now. 

"Connie, you and Michael need to talk, he's hurting just as much as you are, I think him being here shows that," I sigh, not wanting to sound uninterested or forced, it is difficult, I cannot help my tones being clipped like they are, it's just worry, that's all, yes just worry!

"What the hell do I say to him Ric, 'Hi Michael just thought I'd ask why you tried to kill yourself, why you wanted to die, it won't have anything to do with me will it, don't want you sitting dancing in my conscience,'" she is mocking herself, licking the afflicted wound with sarcasm, it's eating away at her like a cancer I doubt I could ever remove, it hurts me.

"No Connie, you go sit with him, talk if he wants to, listen if he needs you too, savour this time, soon enough he'll be back in prison and you won't be able to see him as often as you like," I ramble on trying to find all the reasons as to why she needs to see him, my list suddenly becomes exhausted.

"I've not seen him since that night though," she admits hanging her head in petty shame, I'm broken for her, its silly of me to think that she had gone to see him, they betrayed one an another in so many ways that I will never understand, she is hurting from him hurting her by hiding the truth, he is hurting from her bringing the truth into the open, I don't know entirely who is to blame for it all, blame lies in constant equilibrium in my eyes, it's just been poisoned by sacrificial lies, tainted by dirty misgivings.

"If I go with you will it help," I suggest, attempting the possible of shifting the mountain to Mohammed, she needs support to face him, to answer the questions she feels she can't handle, to get the air cleared of the misty fog shrouding their relationship, I pause. Why am I trying to repair their marriage, when I find this woman such an immense turn on. Her body language is slowly changing; its something I've picked up in the months spent watching her move.

"Yes," she sighs, we stumble to our feet, she slightly unsteadier than I am, but stone cold sober now, I don't want to ask where she got her tolerance from, I don't particularly care right now. We shuffle tensely over the gravel, aiming in the general direction of AAU, I rub her shoulders to keep her warm, or at least let her know I am there, her plastic smile is smeared across her face like a jar of jam adorns a two year olds. We are silent until I finally reach the door to AAU automatically punching in the numbers and opening the door for her, she is now walking incredibly slowly, savouring each step? I don't quite know. We reach the sparkling treatment room, he is tucked up in bed with a police guard sleeping at his side, I stop at the door, letting her move to his bed, disturb the officer, send him packing and sit down with a heavy sigh.

"Michael," her tones are unique, it's the way you speak to someone so close to you, not forced, not sincere, not light hearted, not anything but loving. His eyes slowly open, he had a faded bruise on his right eyelid, a cut on his lip and bandages adorning both his wrists, I feel myself grimace as I look at him, he's burnt out. Physically I know we can do everything we can to sort him out, but emotionally, well all I will say is I'm not a psychologist, or psychiatrist for that matter. He attempts to speak but she lifts her hand to his mouth silencing him wordlessly.

"You deserve an explanation," she tells him simply as he looks at her intently, her voice drops in tone, it's more soulful now, I don't try to eve's drop any further, that is wrong, its an invasion of her privacy, I do however notice tears draining out down her face, she appears to be an open sink, the plughole long since dried out. My head rests against the doorpost, she must be heading to empty soon, but I see her smile in response to his smile, they look as though they are sorting things out, the first step is always the hardest. Her smile has evaporated, her voice is trilled as she calls me over, instinct washing over me, I catch the monitor, its flying all over the place, she is speechless, I take over, physically shoving her out of the way as I bark orders right left and centre, the pillows go flying as I lift his limp head out of the way, thrusting it back as I intubate, it feels so awfully wrong now, I'm hurting for Connie, my ex wife runs in doing what she needs to, demanding paddles, he's a fading light, drying out in the last morsels of oxygen, I can see his body jolt, stirring to nothing, it's too late, whatever he's done, why ever he's done it, he's succeeded, I look so truthfully sorry as I turn to face her, she is as white as a sheet, it isn't fair, her world has hit her for six, she walks towards me, shaking into voluptuous tears, they cascade down her face, her face seems like it's broken, her smile had been snapped on its head, I take her in my arms, comfort her as best I can, it doesn't seem right, it doesn't seem fair. I squeeze her arms tighter; wanting to turn the clock back, make everything ok. I can't

YET I find the attraction ever more powerful right now, I deny!


	2. Wayward Angel

Part 2

I find myself sat at the back of an old double Decker, I'd forgotten how much these things stank and had the ability to feel on the verge of breakdown at the first sight of stopping. It's relatively empty though, and so it should be at gone half eleven. Quite why I'm on a bus headed to the middle of nowhere is even beyond me. But I've not seen Connie in three days, having taken her home that night I've not heard hide nor hare from her, it didn't worry me to begin with, everyone needs space after something as big as this, but not that much space, she lives in a fortress of a house in the country, rattling round there must feel like hell. Yet I see its' attraction, it's the type of place you can get lost in so easily and never find your way out, it suits her down to a tee.

I am only interrupted by the noise emanating from two girls, rather teenagers sat in front of me, they are listening to music, sharing giggles at amusing lyrics, about life, about boyfriends no doubt, completely unaware of harsh truths of life. I wasn't as wise as them at their age, it evolves with generations, you learn more about life from those ahead of you, and pass it down to those below you, it's human nature; it's the reason I'm on my way to see Connie, as a friend, as someone who I care about. Too much. I don't deny that too myself, it seems pointless; cheating yourself is the ultimate sin. I lie my head against the cold, damp window of the bus, I can feel the dirt grate under my touch, but I am too tired to care, being at work all day suddenly washes me with a fuzzy feeling of sleepiness, coupled with the motion of the bus it's lethal. I feel my eyes begin to shut. The only thing to keep me from keeling into a deep slumber is the noise from passengers, the odd smattering of coughs, the sniff at the festering air, the giggle of friends, the loud whisper of a lover on the phone, then me. All alone. My shoulders heave under the weight I silently, carry, visible to no one, no one but me.

The bus soon churns to a halt in the middle of the village I know Connie stay's in; I vaguely remember it from a dinner party I've attended in the past. The bus stairs are grimy from age, my foot only adding to the general antique nature of the bus as I get off, saying my polite thank you to the driver I stare up the dimly lit lane; it looks eerily quaint, soft by daylight no doubt, yet ugly and morbid right now. I make a start up the road, looking for the grand cottage door; it's red that much I do remember. As I spot it appearing in the distance I see her faint shadow appear at the window, she waits for a while, staring out of the window holding something in her hand, as I get even nearer I make it out to be a photo frame, my heart sinks.

I have to stand ringing the doorbell for several minutes before anything remotely happens, she is taking her time to answer, but when you can't feel your feet for the cold it gets irritating. She opens the door and my frustration pails out to insignificance, her face is white and corpse like if I'm blunt, she is still holding the picture, like a child with a teddy, his grey jumper envelops her body like a comfort blanket; she is grieving what am I to expect.

"Can I come in?" I ask, stating my point rather as I step across the threshold, her house is cold, I doubt she's felt it's chill for want of death, my arms immediately reach around her giving her a friendly hug which for once she doesn't shy away from, it's a step of progress.

"Would you like some coffee, you look like death," she informs me, I stutter a laugh at such a stupid comment, she looks more like an angel than me, I'm just cold from the journey here, she is cold from the emotional debt she's just incurred. We follow one another towards the kitchen in perfect silence, I'm still getting used to the layout of her sprawling pile, we come to a standstill in the heart of the home, lost cold and forgotten as she flicks the light on, her slippers scuffing the tiles as she fills the kettle and sets it to boil in the aga, she turns to me, leaning softly on the metal bar, her face drawn to the floor.

"How have you been," I stutter, removing my coat as the heat thaws my cold body, she fails to respond to my statement as various biscuits and condiments are thrust before me on the table, as she invites me to sit down I give her a forcing look, edging her to speak more.

"I miss him," she whispers as the coffee rises wistfully from our mugs, she is concentrating on the mug too much, I reach across the table, I squeeze her hand, reassuring her, but the response is unexpected, she takes my hands and rubs her thumb along my palm, each hair stands to attention as she does so, it's such a bloody turn on, so much so I pull away picking up the hobnob sitting proud on the plate and busy myself with picking it to pieces and lifting each crumb I make.

"It's only natural," I stifle eventually, quelling every rise in tone that would signal my weakness for her. It's like playing a game of staring in primary school, something you do to pass hours of boredom, except this time it was serious, like competing in the world champions, the prize not a half second of glory but unlocking the keys to a tattered soul, being given the chance to repair it, after all its what I've spent years in training for. Surgeon, councillor, the names are interchangeable; the only difference the subject, the rush from this one a million time greater.

"But he's treated me like crap in the past, why can't I live without him when it's all I've done for the past few weeks, adjusted to it, it's not like anything's changed," she sighs as we move the debris to the old ceramic sink, laid only with a couple of mugs and plates, I ignore her lack of food for the minute, forcing the idea of an eating disorder on her now would be vehemently stupid.

I follow her through to the sitting room, there is a blanket sprawled on the sofa, various wine glasses littering the coffee table, the lights are low and moody, by any measure she's been camped out here twenty four hours a day. Rigid with grief. She clears a space on the sofa, piling the debacle up in the corner of the room, folding her arms across the baggy jumper, crumpling into a tiny ball in one corner, the opposite corner.

"Is there anything I can do," I sigh sidling along the sofa slowly, fully expecting her to recoil further, but I fear she needs someone to lean on just now, and right at this instant in time, I wouldn't say no to being that tower of strength.

"Hold me?" she asked strongly, not mincing her words in the slightest. I do as she asks and encompass her in my arms, softly thrilled at the buzz her dirtied, tainted skin leaves on mine, skin on skin, black on white, it makes me frizzle in excitement, enticed to her, like a dad protective over her daughter, yet like a lover obsessing over his partner. I find my lips traversing down her body, flinging themselves passionately over her neck, I smile, turn towards her face, feel the overwhelming attraction towards her lips, falling on their vulnerable puffiness, sucking all the pain away as my tongue works round her lips, tasting the coffee faintly, the smell of lust rising above it.

There is no words of response as I carry her up to her bedroom, only a puzzling look of worry as we trade our way across the bargaining line, I can tell she hasn't been in here for some time, the bed is completely made, the clothes neatly lined up on the cupboard, his slippers sitting idle at the foot of the bed; a reminder. I ignore it, for time beyond my knowledge I've been waiting to do this, waiting to have her, blunt is the theme of the day. She is still cradled in my arms like a helpless baby, its not about the foreplay this time, it's about the mutuality, I've learnt enough to distinguish between the two of them.

I lay her out on the bed like the princess she ought to have been, pulling the jumper over her head to reveal nothing underneath; it astounds me at first, her breasts sitting there ineffectually beautiful. I hesitate, unsure of whether to pull the string to undo the joggers she's currently wearing; she smiles, answering my question with ease, it's like getting the icing on the cake, she's reverberating waves of lust onto me, purring with her facial expression, I'm the cat who just got the cream, licked it and yearns for more. She seems intent on doing the same to me, sticking her hand forcefully at my crotch, taking the zip out in one swift movement, yanking my trousers to the floor, my boxers losing themselves along the way, it is beautiful. As my top is ripped from my skin I fall onto of her, trapping her in with my arms as I crash on top of her, my stomach transcending over hers sending her nipples into erotic spasm, it's too fucking beautiful. Our lips brush against one another, she is pure now, I'm the one dirtying her. She writhes under my touch, I'm unsure how to take this, but when her hands flinch towards my crowning glory my doubts flutter away, she lets her forefinger tickle its way up my length, bloody hell how am I suppose to resist this. I decide to take control, now I'm functioning perfectly, I pin her arms to the bed, unlocking her with my key, releasing all the tension and frustration hidden behind it; swamping us both. Twisting the lock is like undoing the chains, ventilating her heart, steaming it fresh, clean, ripe for the taking, something I doubt she's had for several weeks, its clear, makes it all the more worthwhile to me. I smile at her as she bites her lip in resistance, preventing the neighbours from hearing anything; I respect that. She smirks as I continue, varying speeds, slow then fast, building her climax up with all the anticipation I've been feeling, the sting and burn of passion, the pleasure. HER hands release from underneath mine, stroking down my chest, groping at me on her way, a fling of the hand to her, the edge of something greater to me, her hand rests on the boundaries to my stomach teasing at the hair, I slide out unable to enforce anything more on her, she slips her hands down, taking a firm tight grip, making it seamlessly amazing. The next think I know she's flipped me onto my back letting her body move fluidly back towards the end of the bed, pausing as her lips caress my tip, it's absolutely fucking amazing, feeling her lips squeeze is like tipping yourself into a tub of chocolate swimming in heaven, floating above the clouds in sweet sensual happiness. Right now I'm sitting happily at the gates, glimpsing at Paris and his great grandfather, Michael sitting bored in the corner. She withdraws, I come plummeting back to earth.

Crash, bang, wallop.

Into her, into love.

THIS IS WRONG but feels right.


End file.
